


Falling Into You

by AliceMaravilhas



Category: Everworld Series - K. A. Applegate, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, F/M, Minor Character Death, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7837162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceMaravilhas/pseuds/AliceMaravilhas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A crossover between Everworld and The Hobbit because my deranged mind went there. A story about a girl from the Old World trying to get home and a Dwarf trying to win back his homeland. Gandalf meets them and offers them a proposition neither can refuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is absolutely crazy. I don't know why I'm attempting this, I don't know how I'm going to pull it off, but damned if I won't try my hardest. Fair warning, my Tolkien lore is awful. I don't have time to research like crazy, so most of this is based on the movies and what I make up in my own mind. If that bothers you, this is not the story for you. If smut bothers you, this is not the story for you. If you have never read Everworld, that's okay because I'm going to do my best to give you background knowledge. It may seem silly at first, but I absolutely love the storylines and if you stick with it, they become awesome. I plan to intertwine them with the story of the Quest for Erebor. This story is supposed to be a fun break from my other fanfiction, not necessarily to be taken too heavily. I don't do happy endings very often, but again, this is about getting out of my comfort zone to bring you all a story that you can enjoy up until the very end. Please, comment, kudos, subscribe, bookmark, etc.
> 
> As an aside, just to par down on the characters Merlin and Gandalf are the same person, which I will explain in later chapters!

Thorin Oakenshield sat alone near the tavern's flickering fire. He cupped a mug of dark beer in one hand, and a slice of light bread in the other. His blue eyes shifted left and right at the two Men on the opposing sides of the room. He did not like the look of them with their shifty gazes and sneering lips. They stared at him, as if he were a marked dwarf. And he supposed it was possible. 

He continued to eat and drink, while still keeping an eye on them, though as ever he scanned the room. It was full of loud, laughing men. Winsome, giggling women, batting their eyelashes at the men. The merriment in the tavern felt too bright, too forced. So much so that it left the hairs on his arm standing on edge. 

As the two men began to rise, their eyes never leaving him, he set the flagon down and reached for the sword perched at his side. Just as his fingertips curled around the silvery handle, a man with gray stringy hair in gray robes appeared in front of him and abruptly sat down.

He smiled at Thorin. “May I join you?”

Thorin nodded. “As you will.”

He let out a long breath. Though he would not admit it aloud, he was grateful for the man's presence. It made Thorin a harder mark. Had he stayed alone, it would have been easy for one of the men to come along and slice him to ribbons and disappear into the crowd. Not that he wouldn't have given them a fight. But who knew how many friends they had, waiting and watching.

The gray man grabbed a buxom barmaid by the elbow and pointed to Thorin's fare. “I'll have the same, please.”

She nodded her curly head and moved through the roaring, rambunctious crowd. Thorin felt his brow twitch before he could control it. The man was familiar in an unfamiliar way. He knew he knew the man from somewhere, but could not put his finger on it.

The man reclined in his seat and studied Thorin with drooping, wise eyes, as blue as Thorin's own eyes. He smiled and inclined his head. “I should introduce myself. I am Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey.”

Gandalf. He had not heard that name spoken since his father, Thrain, had set out to meet the old wizard. And his father had not been seen since. It left a nasty taste in his mouth, staring at the man. 

Thorin's eyes narrowed. “I know who you are.”

Gandalf was not perturbed in the least. He chuckled as though he'd been blessed with good fortune. “Now this is a fine chance. What brings Thorin Oakenshield to Bree?”

For a second he debated telling Gandalf. Why should he, when Gandalf's name had been the last on his fathers lips? He studied the wizened old man in front of him and his better nature took over. Maybe, just maybe Gandalf had information.

He sighed. “There were rumors that he'd been wandering the wilds....I went looking. I found nothing.”

Loathe as he was to admit that he'd failed his father once again, there was nothing more that he could do. It was time to go back to his people. Yet, he lingered, hoping for a sign.

Gandalf clucked and shook his head sadly. When he spoke his voice was not unkind. “Thorin...It's been a long time since anything but rumor was heard of Thrain.”

“No. He still lives. I am sure of it.”

Just then the barmaid scooted the plate in front of Gandalf and set the beer beside it. Gandalf slipped her a few coppers and she nodded before walking off, muttering to herself.

Thorin watched her disappear, quietly picking the cheese from his teeth with his tongue. His gaze snapped back to Gandalf when the latter cleared his throat heavily.

“My father came to see you before he went missing. What did you say to him?”

Gandalf leaned in close. “I urged him to march on Erebor. To rally the seven dwarven armies. To destroy the dragon, Smaug and take back the Lonely Mountain. And I would say the same to you. Take back your homeland.”

Oh, a fools dream. One that lay very dear to his father's heart and his own. Of course they wanted to march on Erebor. The homeland they'd lost so long ago to Smaug the Terrible. If he closed his eyes he could still see the hellfires of the dragon. Could hear the screams of his people being burnt alive. 

Again, he studied Gandalf. Then he smirked, lifting his mug to his lips. “This is no chance meeting...is it?”

Gandalf regarded him with a long cool stare. “No. It is not. The Lonely Mountain troubles me, Thorin. That dragon has sat there long enough. Sooner, rather than later, darker minds will turn to Erebor. I ran into some rather...interesting characters....they mistook me for a vagabond.”

Thorin gave him a twisted smile and raised his brow. “I imagine they regretted that.”

“One of them was carrying a message,” Gandlaf murmured, pulling a rolled up piece of parchment from his gray sleeve. He slid it across the table, where Thorin turned it towards the candlelight. “It is Black Speech. A promise of payment. For your head. Someone wants you dead.”

He sat back, every muscle in his body tense as he glanced left and right, a little wildly. But the two men were long gone.

His companion leaned forward. “Thorin, you can wait no longer. You are the heir to the throne of Durin...It is time for you to call upon the seven armies and demand they uphold their oath.”

He shook his head, tossing his long hair behind him. “It is not so simple. They've sworn the oath to the one who wields the King's Jewel. The Arkenstone. It is currently buried under the feet of the dragon, if you've forgotten. For I have not.”

Gandalf folded his hands on the table. “What if I were to help you reclaim it?”

Thorin frowned and gestured out the window. “How? The Arkenstone lies half a world away....”

Gandalf smiled. “Well, then, you're going to need a burglar.”

He nodded at Gandalf, slightly intrigued. “Go on.”

“Ah, but before I promise you your burglar, I need you to promise me something, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf said as he picked through his pockets, pulling out a pipe.

Thorin's brow twitched and he rubbed his beard. There was always a catch. He wondered what Gandalf would want. Gold? Jewels? If they won back Erebor there would be more than plenty to go around. “What would that be?”

Gandalf's smile widened around his pipe. “Her name is Millicent of Blanch. I want you to promise me to take her to wife.”

He blinked, taken aback. It was the last thing he'd expected. “What?”

Smoke curled out of the end of Gandalf's pipe, joining the musty clouds from the fire.

“You need a wife and an heir. I happen to have one that can provide you with the other.”

He glanced down at his sword. A wife? No, he needed an army. Unless the woman came with an army that could take down Smaug and fend off all those who would take the mountain away from him and his kin. Otherwise, he wanted no part in the wizards game.

He looked up to find Gandalf watching him. He pushed his plate away and took another sip of beer. “No.”

Gandalf raised a brow. “No? Well perhaps then you do not need my help as much....”

He made to get up, but Thorin held up his hand. He needed Gandalf's help, needed that burglar. For how else could he unite the Dwarven peoples? Once again his pragmatic nature won against any personal arguments.

Thorin relented a little, though he wanted to fight on. “Tell me about her.”

“She is of the race of Men. Not so tall. About the same height as you, indeed. Small for Man. She is clever and farsighted. I believe you would enjoy her sharp wits. If not for your own humor, then for her diplomatic skills.”

He rubbed a thumb over his lip, staring at the candle on the table. He cradled the mug in his other hand. “I do not like this, Gandalf.”

“I realize that, Thorin, but you are in dire need of my help and...hers as well, though you may not know it.”

Thorin squinted up at him. “What does that mean?”

Gandalf tapped more tobacco into the pipe. “She comes from a land far away. Her views are...different. Unexpected. Yet, they often come to pass with ease, as you'll find. I believe you also need a woman's touch as well.”

“Again I ask, what does that mean? No more riddles, I am growing weary of this game. ”

Gandalf winced. “Would you have me lay out your flaws? Thorin, I simply mean that she will urge you to act with caution. Knowing her, she will second guess your moves, your motives. And that is a good thing, I promise you. I do believe you will find her to be quite a lovely person.”

A lovely person. He snorted angrily. 

“When can I meet her?”

Gandalf sucked his pipe. “Not now, I'm afraid. She's far away, in a castle of an old friend of mine. She is safe. For now. I'm afraid. Well, I'm afraid she needs you as much as you need her. Millicent needs your protection. She has some fierce enemies. Enemies who would pay dearly for your head.”

He tapped on the parchment again and Thorin's eyes flicked down and back up.

“You two have common enemies. And she has more than a few allies. Those who may be willing to aid you in your quest,” he said, brandishing his pipe at Thorin.

He rubbed his thumb over the rim of the flagon, watching Gandalf with wary eyes. “What enemies?”

“Loki, for one,” Gandalf said, his heavy gaze boring into Thorin.

He felt his brows shoot up into his hairline as his skin erupted in gooseflesh. “The god? She's angered the god?”

Gandalf chuckled and took a sip of his own beer. “I do not believe it's that hard to anger him. You anger him by simply existing. You are far more than lucky that his eye is turned elsewhere at the moment.”

He cradled his head in his hands. “On her.”

“No. Not now. But as I've said, she will need your protection.”

Thorin could not help the sardonic laugh that burst from his mouth. “What protection can I give her against an angry god? One who will outright slaughter my people to get to her, no less.”

“He would slaughter your people to get to you as well,” Gandalf pointed out, tapping the ashes from the pipe into a napkin.

Thorin pressed his lips together. “This does not bode well.”

“It will not bode well if you do not retake Erebor. Loki will be unable to touch you or your kin there. And Millicent will help you get it. Of this, I am sure.”

He stared at the ruts and knots in the table. What Gandalf was asking was utter madness. Marrying a woman—of the race of Men, no less!—whom he did not know, sight unseen, who had also angered one of the most powerful gods of the realm. And yet, if he held Erebor.

Gandalf cut into his thoughts. “What if Loki and Smaug form an alliance? What will happen to the Dwarven people then? You, nor your folk will ever reclaim that mountain.”

He was right. But he didn't have to like it.

Sullenly, he glared at the wizard. “What does she look like?”

Gandalf raised a brow letting off several puffs of smoke at once.

Thorin raised his hands. “If I am to be looking upon her face for the rest of my life, I should like to know whether I shall like her face or if I need to...prepare myself. I would like to know what I am buying before I spend my gold.”

Gandalf shrugged. “She is comely enough. There are no visible markings upon her face. She is not hideous. Thorin, you do not need a beautiful woman to stand beside you like a stone carving. You need a woman who is strong and smart and can hold her own. No one else is worthy to hold Erebor. And she is not a possession, as you soon will find out.”

Thorin chewed his lip. Gandalf was right of course, but it did not sit with him well. Marriage had been a far thought from his mind. He knew he'd have to marry one day for the line of Durin to continue one day. Though he had his nephews....And to a woman of the race of Men! But it couldn't be helped. Erebor was his birthright.

He sighed. “I suppose I have no other choice.”

Gandalf reached forward and patted his hand. “There is always the choice. It's the matter of choosing the best path.”

“So you say.”


	2. The Wedding

“Millicent.”

I glanced up from the cookie tray I'd been picking at. Merlin—ach, no Gandalf—gazed down at me not unkindly. His matted gray hair hung in knots around his face and his bright blue eyes studied mine. Beside him, the little hobbit rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, his own blue eyes flitting between the two of us.

“Yes?” I asked, keeping my voice as calm as possible, trying to quell the raging storm inside.

“Bilbo will show you to the guest room now, if you please.”

No, Gandalf, I do not please was what I wanted to say. Instead, I smiled placidly and replaced the cookie I'd been fingering. I brushed the crumbs off my newly made brown leggings and stood, nearly hitting my head on the candelabra overhead. 

Bilbo's hands were fisted and stuffed into his pockets. I attempted to smile reassuringly at him, but he paid me no heed.

He turned with a sigh. “This way.”

I nodded and slung the brown satchel over my shoulder, giving Gandalf one last wary look before following Bilbo down the hall and to the guest room.

The little hobbit hole was warm and cozy. I was actually quite small for the race of Men...And that's when it hit me. I'd already resigned myself to my fate. The race of Men? Only Everworlders spoke that way. Which meant that somewhere in my heart of hearts I knew I would never return to the 'Old World.' My home.

Gandalf had promised us safe passage home in exchange for Senna. Only, he'd worded it carefully, ever so carefully. I'd made the deal without knowing that I was not included. He told me he would need something extra from me. Naively, I agreed. I'd trusted him. Back when he was Merlin. 

Bilbo turned back to me, slightly red faced and annoyed. “Are you coming?”

I blinked and nodded. “Oh yes, I'm sorry, I got distracted. You have a lovely home.”

He sniffed, but his shoulders eased. “Thank you. It's been in my family for generations.”

Again I nodded, but this time only to be polite as we scuffed down the hall. He opened a door to the right and gestured me in. “Here you go. If you need anything...I'm at your service.”

I curtsied as the Elves had taught me. “And I as well.”

He closed the door behind him with a snap and a sigh of relief escaped me. Alone at last. I sat down on the bed and stared at my hands. Part of me wanted to cry, but the other part of me was determined not to cry on my wedding day. A sick feeling crept up my stomach turning it into sour curdled milk. My wedding day. 

There was no giddiness or happiness. Only a pallid forbearance. But still I did not cry. Instead, I began to unbuckle my satchel and I dumped the contents on the bed beside me.

I stood and stared at the bed frowning. My things, once having been from the Old World were slowly being replaced by Everworld possessions. I no longer had the clothes I'd come with. No more jeans or sneakers or my red t-shirt. The only thing left really was my very dead iPhone that I couldn't seem to part with. A security blanket, the last thing truly connecting me to my other life. Aside from the dreams. But they were the last thing on my mind.

No, what was currently on my mind was the silky dress that had slithered its way from my bag. It lay in a heap of shiny blue and silver atop the pile of other things. I picked it up and laid it flat on the bed. It was absolutely gorgeous with its silver trimmed belt, pearls that would hang from my hips and clink every time I walked. The over dress was a deep midnight blue with parts of it pinned up to the belt revealing the patterned silver underskirt that glimmered when shifted. Gandalf had said it was fit for a queen. 

Many women would be envious of it. But not I; who had always imagined marrying for love and not for the convenience of others. 

I thought of running away, starting over. Finding Senna myself and demanding she let me go home. 

But Mer—Gandalf—scared me more. I'd seen Senna's powers. They were nothing compared to the old wizard, who'd lived thousands upon thousands of years. I'd seen him hold his own against Loki, the trickster god.

No, it was better to be under his protection than out of it. Too many foes in Everworld. Hel, Loki, Ka Anor. Too many gods to name and even more smallfolk. 

According to Gandalf, Thorin and his people could protect me. The thought almost made me laugh. Protect me? I'd done a pretty good job of protecting myself. 

Sighing, I picked through the pile on the bed and found a comb. I dragged it through my long dark hair slowly as I paced the room. Luckily there were no chandeliers for me to bump my head on. I wasn't even remotely tall, standing at five feet two inches. 

I glanced into the mirror and frowned at the paleness of my skin that made the dark smudges under my eyes stand out more than ever. I almost looked as sick as I felt.

A knock on the door made me jump. I cleared my throat. “Enter.”

Bilbo pushed his way in carrying a tea tray and a plate of cheese and bread. And a glass of red wine. I smiled in relief as he set it down on the end table.

“Thank you, Master Baggins.”

He rubbed his chin. “You can just call me Bilbo.”

I inclined my head. “Thank you, Bilbo. And thank you for hosting us, it's quite generous of you.”

He blinked at me, taken aback. Then he frowned. “I wasn't exactly expecting company...”

I smiled again, my mouth aching. “But it's Gandalf. I know.”

He stared over my shoulder and then nodded succiently. “I will be out there, fettering dwarves if you need me, my...lady...M...Lady.”

“It's Millie. Please.”

He bowed his way out the door. “Millie.”

And then he was gone, leaving me alone again. Only this time I felt bereft. I sat on the edge of the bed and nibbled on the cheese, hoping it would quell my rumbling stomach. When the cheese failed to settle my stomach, I went to the wine, sipping it slowly.

I'd never been much of a drinker in the Old World. The real world. Even for my twenty-first birthday I'd simply gone out and bought a pack of Smirnoff Ice. 

Even with the pitifully small amount I drank it still went to my head and I set it back on the tray. Bilbo had also brought me tea, but I couldn't stomach tea. So instead I went back to nibbling on the cheese and staring at the pile of watered silk.

I had no one to help me dress. No one to do my hair. It was my wedding day and I was utterly alone. Without my friends. If I could even call them friends. In the real world, we were on a smile and acknowledging nod basis, nothing more. Except for Senna. I knew her only slightly better than the others, but still not well enough to call her more than a “friendly” acquaintance. I worked at the same office as Senna. 

We were all connected to her—me, April, Christopher, David and Jalil. She'd called me her best friend. April was her sister. David was her boyfriend. Christopher was her ex-boyfriend. No one knew the connection between Jalil and Senna. Honestly, Jalil and I felt like the outsiders. Not that either of us minded. 

We'd gotten separated many months back. Not so much separated as me abandoning them. I'd gone to Gandalf because I was tired of the fighting. I just wanted to go home and live my life. But I'd made a deal with the devil.

There was another knock on the door. I still wasn't dressed, putting it off until the last minute.

I sighed. “Enter.”

The door opened and a young faced dwarf stepped in. He was only a few inches shorter than I and quite handsome. He wore a sweet, goofy smile under his brown beard. My heart skipped a beat. Was this Thorin?

He bowed at me. “Kíli, at your service.”

I curtsied, feeling slightly disappointed. “Millie, at your service.”

He smiled at me and rubbed his hands together. “My mother sent a token for you.”

I clasped my hands in front of me, unsure of what to do with them. “Yes?”

He extracted a long blue ribbon embroidered with silver leaves and flowers from his sleeve with the greatest of care. I took the satiny material from his hands and ran my fingers over it. The material was old, yet well preserved. 

“My grandmother's grandmother wore it on her wedding day. And then her daughter, and then my grandmother and then my mother, who thought it only right that you should wear it on yours, for luck,” he said eagerly.

Then he laughed. “I'm your nephew to be. My grandmother was Thorin's mother. My mother is his younger sister.”

It reminded me how little I knew about my future husband. But I plastered a smile on my face. “That is very kind of her. When you see her next, you must thank her for me.”

“Hopefully we shall see her next together, at Erebor and you can thank her yourself.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Kíli.”

“You're welcome, Aunt.”

I watched Kíli leave, bemused. He had to be older than I was, and yet here he called me Aunt. To say it was awkward was only the beginning.

But it was the push I needed to begin dressing myself for the ceremony. After an intense struggle, I managed to get the dress laced and buttoned. 

I stared down at the ribbon, long and hard. I supposed I should wear it in my hair. Perhaps not to please Thorin, but to uphold tradition. The idea of one of my daughters wearing it one day appealed to me, so I threaded it through my hair like a headband, looping the ends through the band at the sides and back, until my hair was pinned and tucked in place with the ribbon.

“Pretty,” Gandalf said from behind me. I jumped and swirled around, finding him in the doorway, holding a netted, silvery veil, heavily beaded. He nodded at me. “Dwarven women usually wear their hair down at their wedding ceremony.”

“I'm not a dwarven woman,” I snarked and turned back to the mirror, jabbing in the little hoop earrings. 

“No, you are not. It is just as well that he sees your true nature, Millicent. Once you put up a facade, it's often hard and tiring to maintain.

I looked at his reflection and snorted. “Well, you would know.”

I knew I shouldn't antagonize Gandalf, but I couldn't help but feel a little bitter. Not only towards him but my friends who would get to go home and enjoy their real lives, while I was left behind in Everworld with a cranky dwarf.

He clucked and shook his head. “I do realize that you are cross with me. I only hope that in time you find that I have done you a favor.”

“I doubt it,” I sniffed and rubbed my sweaty palms over the front of the dress. My eyes flicked back to the veil. “What's that?”

He smiled. “Another tradition.”

I frowned. “I know what a veil is. Am I that ugly to make him run?”

Gandalf chuckled. “I did not think you cared about your beauty.”

Did I truly not care about my looks? I didn't know. My most redeeming feature were my eyes. Big and brown, the color of coffee or chocolate (or as Christopher once put it, dog shit). I didn't find myself ugly or beautiful. Perhaps pretty in a plain way with semi-delicate features. Small nose, small, yet shapely mouth. Nothing that screamed great beauty, but not hideous either. Which suited me fine. I preferred being known for other talents. Such as my intelligence and my sense of humor and my desire to be compassionate.

I padded across the room, my skirts swishing along, feeling just as heavy as the weight of what was about to occur. I fingered the veil, surprised at its softness, despite the thick netting and the sprinkle of white glass beads and fat seeded pearls that matched the belt hanging from my hips. 

All this finery and the wedding was being held hastily in a hobbit hole. Today would began all the rest of my days with Thorin Oakenshield. Though I was angry, I was more than a little afraid. I looked up at Gandalf.

“It doesn't always matter to me, but....” I hesitated, chewing on my lip. “What if he doesn't like me? I don't want to go through a marriage like my parents.”

He set the veil on the bed and patted my shoulder. “I do not think he will dislike you, Millicent. Thorin is honorable, and he does right by all his people. You will be one of his people by the end of the night, if not the most important person. He is not unkind and regardless, he will treat you fairly. This I promise you. He is not a bad man.”

I raised a thick, unwaxed brow. “But?”

Gandalf sighed. “He is also stubborn, hot-headed, proud, haughty.”

I pressed my cheek into my shoulder, staring off into the floor. “I don't want to do this, Gandalf.”

He squeezed my shoulder and moved past me. “You must. We've been through this.”

“I know. But it doesn't make it any better.”

He was silent for a few moments, leaving me to my own thoughts. The cheese and the wine had helped settle my nerves, but they were back with butterfly wings, fluttering in my head and chest and belly, making it hard to think or breathe or move. Again, the urge to run swept over me, but I wasn't that girl. I'd never been that girl.

So instead I swiveled back to him. “What is taking so long?”

He looked down at me with a slight smile. “He only just arrived. Give him a few moments to prepare himself as well.”

“He going to wear a veil too?”

Gandalf chuckled. “I think not.”

Just then there was a knock on the door frame. I turned to find an older, balding dwarf glancing between me and Gandalf. He was taller than I was, by about two inches, and he stood broad shoulders back, with purpose. Was this Thorin?

But Gandalf answered my question. “Ah, Dwalin. Is everything ready?”

The dwarf grunted and nodded. 

Gandalf put his hand on my back. “Good, good. Millicent, this is Dwalin. Dwalin this is the Lady Millicent.”

Dwalin bowed, revealing several tattoos on his scalp. “At your service.”

Again, I curtsied back. “And I at yours.”

We stared at each other for a moment, him taking in my face with his small gray eyes and I taking in his presence. Even though he was short of stature, he seemed to fill the entirety of the room. Between him and Gandalf, I felt very small indeed. 

Behind me Gandalf cleared his throat and placed a large hand on my back. “Now, Dwalin will be escorting you. He will place your hand in Thorin's. A symbol of giving you away. There will be several times where you are asked to kneel and then stand. And then when the ceremony is finished Thorin will flip back the veil and seal the union with a kiss.”

I frowned, but nodded anyway. “I'm ready.”

Gandalf smiled at me. “You have nothing to fear, Millie.” 

I shrugged as he draped the veil over my head and eyes. I could only see my hips and my feet. My heart hammered in my chest, the wings in my belly beat furiously cheering on the urge to vomit. I wiped my suddenly sweaty palms on the dress.

Gandalf took my hand and threaded it through Dwalin's elbow and I clutched his large bicep for support. My head felt fuzzy and I knew if I did not stop myself I would hyperventilate. Though my mind and my heart both screamed for me to run, my practicality kept me grounded and glued to Dwalin as he led me out of the room following the gray hem of Gandalf's robes. 

When we turned the corner, I could hear laughter and general merriment, though I still saw nothing more than my own slippers. 

I was so concentrated on not falling that I almost did not realize we had stopped and Dwalin was tucking my hand into the fingers of another. Thorin. My heart leaped in my throat and I swallowed it back down as another hand slid around my waist and helped me up the single stair. I could not see his face through the veil, only toes of his well polished boots.

The hand wrapped around mine was warm and calloused, yet the grip was overly gentle, as if he were afraid I would break. I briefly squeezed a reassurance that I was not made from glass. He swept his thumb across my knuckles, sending a blush through my cheeks.

Gandalf began to speak, mostly in dwarvish. I tried to stand straight and tall and focus on the ceremony, but without being able to understand it, I zoned in and out, wondering where my friends were. Wondering if they cared that I was sacrificing myself to save them. Hating Senna for bringing me to Everworld.

Thorin tugged on my hand and grasped my other elbow. With his help I sank to my knees. I still could not see his face, though I caught a glimpse of the knees of his simple, yet expensive black trousers. 

Gandalf spoke more dwarvish and then Thorin answered in kind, with a rich, deep baritone that echoed down into my nervous belly, filling me with a warmth I couldn't quite identify. He had the voice of a king, a voice that could command men and women to follow him. I found myself wishing he would say more so I could hold onto that forever.

And then it was time to stand again. Thorin once again slipped his arm about my waist and helped me up. Silently I brushed the ashes and dust from my skirts with one hand, the other still grasping Thorin's. 

Gandalf cleared his throat and began to speak in the vernacular. “Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. Millicent of Blanch. The two of you are now joined in marriage, a bond that runs deep as blood. I would now ask that you seal your union with a kiss as a sign of your acceptance.”

I saw Thorin's boot turns towards me and he grasped the ends of the veil, flipping it back in one fluid motion. 

The first thing I noticed about him were the sharpness of his eyes. Deep blue. So deep and dark that one could get lost staring into them forever. His thick brow was furrowed in thought as he took in my own face. 

Like most dwarves he sported a beard, however, his was much shorter and clean cut than the others. His features were strong, his nose large, his chin broad, but they fit his face. Perhaps he was not as handsome as his nephew Kíli, however, his face was interesting to look upon nonetheless. 

His lips twitched into the slightest of pleased smiles and he reached up, cupping my face in his hands. I knew my cheeks were red, red, red as he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to mine in a warm, reserved, yet sweet kiss. My eyes fluttered shut.

My already racing heart began to slam in my ribcage as I leaned further into the kiss, splaying my palm against his chest. He moved his lips with an ease that made me jealous and...hungry for more. I wanted to feel more of the tingling that had appeared on my lips, wanted to feel it spread throughout my body. Wanted more and more and more in a way I'd never wanted anything else. With his lips all my panic, my anxiety, my trepidation melted away, and I began to feel the rightness of the situation.

And just like that the kiss was over, and Thorin was running his thumb along the straight edge of my nose. I couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed.

It must have shown on my face, for Thorin's mouth twisted upwards and he murmured, “Later, wife,” so softly I nearly did not hear him. I had to bite my lip to stifle a little giggle.

Gandalf cleaned his throat loudly and we both looked over at him, our little private spell broken. “Thorin, you may now present your bride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know there isn't a lot of knowledge on Tolkien's dwarves. Which is fine, it means I am making shit up as I go. As always, comment, kudos, subscribe, bookmark.


	3. Dinner

Thorin placed his wide palm on the small of my back and guided me towards the dining table. He acted the perfect gentleman, pulling out my chair, making sure my wine glass was filled to the brim and letting me have first taste of the extravagant fare before us. After a few sips of wine my body and mind began to relax and I began to enjoy the hearty laughter around the table. 

The dwarves were a merry company, save for Thorin's solemn, pensive face. Though I was busy stuffing myself with the rich assortment of food provided by Bilbo, I couldn't help but study him from the corner of my eye. His sharp, piercing blue eyes focused on nothing at all as he puffed on a wooden pipe. His stubby fingers drummed on the table to an inconsistent beat. His plate lay untouched on the table.

Though I was starving and the fare was far richer than I was used to in Everworld, I kept my manners. The other dwarves however, roared with laughter at every eructate of gas, chewed with their mouths open, ate with their hands and beer dribbled down their beards. It was a fascinating sight to behold, and yet strangely endearing. We hadn't met many happy, friendly people in Everworld, so the dwarves and their pleasant demeanor and terrible manners were quite welcome.

Thorin caught my gaze, giving me an inquisitional one of his own and I smiled, a little weakly, flushing. Amusement spread over his face and he reached over to push a stray hair from my cheek. My heart fluttered as his calloused fingers brushed my skin. 

Around the table several of the company hooted at us. One of them shouted, “Kiss! Kiss!” The others began to join in until everyone at the table was yelling at us, save for a sour and uncomfortable Bilbo, who wouldn't meet anyone's eye. I glanced over at my new husband, sucking my lower lip between my teeth. Thorin noticed my anxiety and his eyes twinkled as he curled his hand at the base of my neck, drawing me in. His soft, warm lips skimmed over mine. Before I even had time to react he'd pulled back with a wicked grin on his face. Once again my cheeks bloomed and the dwarves hooted and hollered. Even Gandalf joined in.

The rest of the dinner was peppered with lewd shouts and suggestions, until Thorin growled at them all. “Let my wife eat her supper in peace.”

After that they mostly left us alone, for which I was grateful. Though, I still felt awed at the fact that I was someones wife.

As the dinner went on my head began to swirl with all the wine I'd drunk. Thorin and the others kept refilling my wine glass, making it impossible for me to know how much I had. 

One of the dwarves, an older white haired gentleman cleared his throat. “What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?”

Thorin shifted beside me, his knee colliding with mine. Absently, he placed a hand over my leg. “Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms.”

The dwarves all looked excitedly at each other, while the white haired dwarf—I think his name was Balin?—smiled in wonder. “All of them!” 

Dwalin leaned forward. “What did the Dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?”

Thorin placed his pipe on the table and looked down at his half finished plate of food. “They will not come. They say this quest is ours and ours alone.”

From behind me I heard Bilbo sniff. “You're going on a quest?”

Gandalf coughed. “Ah, my dear Bilbo, let us have a little more light.”

As Bilbo trotted off for more candles Gandalf began to pull an old, rumpled piece of parchment from the sleeve of his gray robes. He smoothed it on the table in front of me.

“Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands likes a single solitary peak,” said Gandalf.

Bilbo came back with a candelabra and bent himself between Gandalf and myself. “The Lonely Mountain.”

I leaned in to look at the map of what would be my new home. Too much wine had clouded my head. The only thing I could think of was what a dangerous quest this would probably be.

Another dwarf further down the table pounded his fist against the wood. “Aye, Oin has read the portents and the portents say it is time. Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold. When the birds of yore return to Erbor the reign of the beat will end.”

 

Bilbo looked around, alarmed. “What beast?”

“That would be Smaug the terrible. Greatest and chiefest calamity of our day,” the dwarf with the winged hat nodded as he smoked his pipe.

“Ain't nothing that can pierce a dragons hide,” another one added, unhelpfully.

I furrowed my brow and chewed my lip, eyes glued to the map. There was at least one substance that could pierce a dragon's heart. Diamonds. For a moment I was pulled back to Fairy Land. But they were so far from Erebor. There was no way in hell we could lure him so many leagues away. When I glanced up Thorin was regarding me, his face carefully guarded. I flushed and sat back in my chair.

One of the younger dwarves stood up. “I'm not afraid! I'll give him a taste right up his jacksie!”

There was laughter around the table.

“Language! We have a lady in our midst,” Thorin cut in. 

I bit my lips to keep from giggling. I'd said worse, oh so much worse.

Balin shook his head. “The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us. But we number just thirteen. And not thirteen of the best or brightest.”

My voice was so soft, only Thorin and Gandalf could have heard me. “Fourteen.”

My husband looked over at me and I caught a swell of pride in his eye before his other nephew, Fíli, interupted. “We may be few in number, but we're fighters, all of us down to the last Dwarf.”

“And you forget, we have a Wizard in our company! Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time,” K íli said.

I couldn't hide the snort that escaped my nose. Half the table looked at me while the other half looked at Gandalf, demanding answers. I pressed my knuckles to my lips and turned my face away.

The talk at the table slowly turned into shouting. Finally, Thorin stood up. “Enough! If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have too? Rumors have begun to spread. Smaug has not been seen for 60 years. Eyes look east to the mountain assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while other claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize the chance to take back Erebor?”

I admired the conviction with which he spoke and the passion in his eyes. He looked at each and every dwarf and nodded.

Balin sighed. “The gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain.”

Gandalf smiled. “Millicent. The key.”

I blinked over at him before shaking my head to clear it. Inside the little purse on my belt was a heavy metal key with rote and angular iron work crisscrossing along the bow. I tugged it out and placed in on the table. Thorin snatched it up and held it up to the light, running his fingers along it.

He squinted at me. “How came you by this?”

I recoiled at the urgency in his voice, but Gandalf placed a steadying hand on my upper back.

“Your father gave it to us for safekeeping.”

“My father is--”

“--yes, I am sorry, Thorin.”

The rest of the company bowed their heads, murmuring in dwarvish as Thorin rubbed a hand over his beard. By the time I realized I should be comforting him, Fíli had begun to speak.

“If there is a key, there must be a door!”

Gandalf smiled and nodded as he gestured to the crinkled map. “These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls.”

“There's another way in!” said Kíli.

Gandalf nodded. “If we can find it. The answer is in the map. I however, cannot read it....The task will require a great deal of stealth and courage. I believe it can be done.”

The young dwarf grinned. “Which is why we need a burglar!”

Bilbo chuckled. “And a good one too. An expert.”

One of the dwarves interjected. “And are you?”

Bilbo tilted his head to the side. “Am I what?”

“He's hardly burglar material,” said Balin.

Dwalin nodded in agreement, heaving a great sigh. “Aye, the wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.”

Another argument broke out with both Thorin and Gandalf trying to calm everyone down. I simply stared, fascinated how fast they could go from content to argumentative. 

Over the din I heard Kíli say, “He's fine.”

Gandalf stood up and his image grew taller and taller as his voice deepened and echoed across the hobbit hole “If I say Bilbo is a burglar, then a burglar he is!”

The rest of the dwarves quieted down and Gandalf sat back down with a huff, glaring around the table. “Scent of hobbit is unknown to Smaug. That gives us a distinct advantage. There is a lot more to him then appearances suggest. He's got a great deal more to offer than any of you know. Including himself. Trust me.”

Gandalf's glare cut across me over to Thorin who jerked his head at Balin. “Give him the contract.”

Balin passed the contract to Thorin who handed it over to Bilbo. The hobbit stepped away to the hall, muttering to himself as he read it.

Thorin leaned across me, glaring at Gandalf. His voice was low and dangerous when he spoke. “I cannot guarantee his safety. Nor will I be responsible for his fate.”

Gandalf nodded. “Agreed.”

Another disquiet fell over the table and I looked down at my empty plate, feeling bitter. Everyone was given a choice. Everyone but me. I would be yolked to this...dwarf...for the rest of my life. Someone I barely knew. 

My thoughts were interrupted by the loud thump behind me. We all turned to find Bilbo had fainted on the rug. 

Gandalf sighed. “Come help me.”

Several of the dwarves stood and they wrangled Bilbo into one of the backrooms. My husband stood and made his way around the table, leaving me alone at the head of the table. I wiped my sweaty palms in my skirts and watched him.

Balin sighed, eyes staring at the place where Bilbo passed out. “It looks like we have just lost our burglar. The odds were always against us...Nothing more than merchants, miners, tinkerers, toy makers...”

Thorin smiled, his eyes twinkling. “There are a few warriors amongst us. I would take each and every dwarf here over an army. For when I called, they answered. Loyalty, honor, a willing heart. I can ask for no more than that.”

Balin shook his head and put his hand on Thorin's arm. “You don't have to do this. You've done honorably by our people. You've made us a new home in the Blue Mountains. A life of peace and plenty.”

“This,” Thorin stroked his fingers over the key I'd given him, “has come down from my grandfather to my father to me. They dreamt of the day when we would reclaim our homelands. There is no choice. Not for me.”

Balin nodded. “Then we're with you. We'll see it done.”

Thorin gave him a half smile and a nod of his head. He began to walk into the other room when Balin grabbed his arm.

“Your wife, Thorin.”

His blue eyes fell on me. “Millicent.”

My heart skipped a beat when he said my name in that sexy, gravelly voice of his. Then he ruined the mood by saying, “Come,” like I was a dog. He swept into the other room and Balin looked at me with pity and apology in his eyes.

I followed them into the main room, where Thorin and I had been married less than two hours previously. The room was uncomfortably warm and I hovered in the archway.

The dwarves pulled a chair up by the fire for me and insisted I sit. Thorin leaned an arm against the mantle as he stared into the fire. The flames flickered across his face, giving his pale skin a glowing effect. He pulled a wooden pipe from his pocket and puffed on it a few times, still lost in his own world.

He drew in a deep breath and began to sing with the others joining in.

Far over the Misty Mountains cold  
To dungeons deep and caverns old  
We must away,ere break of day  
To find our long forgotten gold  
The pines were roaring on the heights  
The wind were moaning in the night  
The fire was red, it flaming spread  
The trees like torches blazed with light

I shivered in the warm room. Looking between their faces, I began to feel their longing for their homeland. Especially Thorin's.  
He looked down at me and half smiled. “It is time for bed.”

My stomach dropped as I realized exactly what he meant. I'd completely forgotten all possibilities of having sex.

That was when it hit me, what I'd truly gotten into. Not just marriage to a stranger, but a king. A dwarf who would expect me to compose myself properly, who would take me to bed, who would expect me to bear his children, who I would sleep beside for the rest of my life.

I suppose the fear must have shown in my eyes, for when Thorin took my hand it was with such gentleness I nearly wanted to cry. It would be so much easier to bear if he were harsh or cruel. Then I would have reason to be afraid.


End file.
